The man whose bosom neither riches nor luxury nor grandeur can render happy may, with a book in his hand, forget all his torments under the friendly shade of every tree; and experience pleasures as infinite as they are varied, as pure as they are lasting, as lively as they are unfading, and as compatible with every public duty as they are contributory to private happiness.

The sluggard is a living insensible.

When ill news comes too late to be serviceable to your neighbor, keep it to yourself.

Be not so bigoted to any custom as to worship it at the expense of truth.

The love of solitude, when cultivated in the morn of life, elevates the mind to a noble independence, but to acquire the advantages which solitude is capable of affording, the mind must not be impelled to it by melancholy and discontent, but by a real distaste to the idle pleasures of the world, a rational contempt for the deceitful joys of life, and just apprehensions of being corrupted and seduced by its insinuating and destructive gayeties.

Fools with bookish knowledge art children with edged weapons; they hurt themselves, and put others in pain.

Hunger is the mother of impatience and anger.